


wrap me in sunset and sleep

by edelwoodsouls



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Post RQG 182, The Author Regrets Nothing, Zolf can have kisses. as a treat, Zolf is Low Charisma and I Love Him, this got way more RomanticTM than expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelwoodsouls/pseuds/edelwoodsouls
Summary: Wilde hasn't been fine for a long time.But it's okay; Zolf can bear the load.(Not to me. Not if its you.)
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 20
Kudos: 81





	wrap me in sunset and sleep

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to 182 and promptly blacked out until i wrote this  
> (this was gonna be QPR but my hand slipped)

Nights in the North are cold.

Zolf is used to the cold. Days aboard a ship, soaked in salt water and bitter air, and hours spent in the chill below ground of the mines, have both prepared him for this atmosphere.

Wilde, however, is not. The last couple of years have hardened him, yes- but they haven't changed his love of the finer things. Of the small comforts - a warm bed, a good drink, an arm around him as he sleeps.

It is this argument that convinced Zolf. "I'll be so lonely, Zolf," Wilde had grinned, with a flicker of that old, familiar spark in his eye that has always made Zolf ache. "I just can't get warm, after all that being dead nonsense."

Zolf had rolled his eyes. Grabbed one of Wilde's gesturing hands out of the air, held it close between his own. "Feels plenty warm to me."

Maybe it's his own bias. To him, Wilde is an ever-flickering flame in a world increasingly plunged into dark. Those moments, between a bloody body sprawled across snow, and the sudden gasp of breath in frozen lungs- those were darker than he ever dreamed the world could be.

And he's been living in twilight longer than he can remember.

"Then let me keep _you_ warm," Wilde had whispered, pulling Zolf's hands to cup his face. The touch of skin on skin had felt like an open flame, and a gentle breeze, all at once.

"Okay," Zolf had said, voice barely more than a whisper.

He couldn't have dared to imagine, when they first met, how this man, this insufferably annoying bard, would change him. Worm his way under every steel guard Zolf has ever erected, and find a nook to nestle in, at home in his heart.

It takes them a while to find the opportunity. The news of the seed, the infection, the garden, parade through as cruel distractions, as if fate is counting down the extra days it can keep the two of them apart.

Finally, they return to the ship, newly fixed and gleaming. The garden has left everyone- off, a little. Distracted, and distant, drifting in a sea of memories and what-ifs and heartache.

Zolf isn't unaffected, but he learnt to live with his ghosts a long time ago. Hears their calls every night in his dreams, their sneers at every choice he makes and doesn't make. Just because they were corporeal for a little while, doesn't change things.

It's Wilde he's worried about.The garden definitely hit him worse than the others. His eyes are unfocused, stuck towards the horizon. Head cocked slightly, as if the whispers of spirits haven't left him behind. The tremor in his hands is back, his fingers cold to the touch.

He's quiet, but not in a Wilde-like way - not the stern reservation Zolf has grown accustomed to. It's lost, and vacant. As if the world is merely a stream passing him by.

Zolf links his fingers into Wilde's as they approach the ship. The gesture is accepted without complaint, without any registration. Wilde lets himself be led up onto the deck.

"Get some rest, you lot," Earhart yells down by way of greeting, from up in the rigging. "You can debrief in the morning."

"Not now?" Zolf asks, frowning.

"You look like you're all about to drop dead," she sniffs. "It won't do any good to report in this state."

"Are you being _nice_ , Earhart?"

"Just practical. Go below before I change my mind."

Zolf tips a salute in her direction, and doesn't ask twice.

He turns to Wilde. In the dying light of the evening, the sun unfiltered by clouds, Wilde is haloed in a soft warm glow, not unlike the aura of magic he used to protect everyone in the garden. His shock-white hair almost dances in the breeze, brushing against his jaw, his slightly-parted lips, his distant blue eyes.

Zolf isn't a religious man anymore, but for Wilde he could make an exception.

"Wilde?" he asks softly. "You with me?"

For a moment, the words seem to vanish into smoke, and Zolf is more scared than he wants to admit that, maybe, the void that has gaped beneath Wilde's feet for years has finally claimed him.

Then the clouds seem to part. Wilde's eyes find his, his fingers curl to squeeze Zolf's. Something like a smile, still a little dreamy and disconnected, tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm here, Zolf," he says. "Thank you."

"Let's get you into bed."

"At least buy me dinner first," Wilde's smile splits into that familiar, teasing grin.

"Maybe tomorrow," Zolf says gruffly, glad that his beard hides the heat rising in his cheeks, somewhat. "If you can get a full night's sleep, I'll buy you the best dinner money can buy aboard a flying airship in the middle of the aurora."

"Is that a promise?"

Zolf takes a breath, letting the cold air sober the moment. "Yes, it is."

Wilde nods, satisfied. And maybe- a little nervous? Relieved? It's hidden under several layers of bravado, but Zolf has learnt to read every line of that face, every spark in those eyes.

"Come on," Zolf finally breaks their eye contact, feeling sure his blush has crawled to places it definitely can't hide. "Earhart wasn't wrong when she said we need sleep. You look like a strong gust of wind would knock you over."

"I _bend_ with the wind, Zolf. Like a tree. Resilient and tall, and an absolutely stunning view."

"Yeah, yeah. And I'm the boulder that is dragging you downhill _to bed_."

"Lead on, good rock."

And Zolf does, not daring to let go of Wilde's hand even as they descend into the narrow, warren-like corridors of the ship.

He leads them to Wilde's room, and Wilde does nothing but smile, small and almost-hidden, when Zolf closes the door behind him.

"I'll stay," Zolf offers, as Wilde sits heavily on the bed and begins to unlace his shoes. "If you want, that is. I can stay."

"It would be pretty hard to sleep together, if you were in a different room."

"Well, yeah..."

"And it's not as if we can sleep in _your_ room, half my legs would hang off the end."

"True," Zolf concedes, feeling half a step behind. He has never been sure, exactly, what this thing between them is. Isn't used to people _wanting_ him, _choosing_ him, when there are any other options to go with.

"And it does get dreadfully cold in this room, being so close to the outer hull-"

" _Okay_ , Wilde, I'll stay. Just wanted to check you hadn't..."

"What?" Wilde's face grows serious, and Zolf's gut squirms with guilt at instantly killing the mood. "Forgotten? Changed my mind?"

Zolf nods wordlessly, unable to look him in the eye.

"Zolf." Wilde doesn't stand, but beckons him over with a hand. Hesitant, nervous, Zolf sits beside him on the bed, not quite touching.

Wilde reaches out, cups his hands on either side of Zolf's jaw. "I'm not going to change my mind," he says, slowly, watching to make sure each word lands where it's supposed to. "Whatever this is, I need you to know that. I need you to know that I need _you_."

"Really?" There's a lump in his throat, chewing up any thoughts of words, until they scratch and ache.

"Really." Wilde takes a careful, shivering breath. "You know I worry the same thing, about you? That you'll wake up one day and see the cracks, see that I'm this- shackle, around your ankles, dragging you down. And you'll leave me, and I wouldn't blame you even a little bit."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere." Zolf rests a hand against Wilde's, revels in the warmth, in the contact, in the quiet _peace_ of this moment- something neither of them has known in a long time.

"That's good," Wilde breathes. His eyes have drifted downwards, but he says nothing.

"Wilde?"

"Can I-" He's _hesitating_ , unsure. "I don't know, if you- I know you- that is to say-"

"Just kiss me, Wilde."

He doesn't need telling twice. He closes the gap in a moment, magnets drawing the two of them together.

For all that Zolf has, maybe, perhaps, in private moments, imagined what kind of a kisser Oscar Wilde might be, nothing compares to the reality. His lips are warm, and soft - gentle, but insistent. His fingers curl into his hair, resting comfortably there.

A single moment leaves Zolf breathless. Ten seconds, and he thinks he might never come down from that buzzing, lightheaded feeling.

Eventually, Wilde pulls away. Zolf follows his lips for a moment, before the world returns, the chill of the evening air, the wind outside the window, the perpetual ache in his bones.

Everything feels a little distant, in the aftermath. This night, this moment, is just the two of them, just the warmth clasped between their hands and the shiver of their breaths as their lungs try to remember oxygen.

"That was..." The words have scattered, just out of reach.

"Show-stopping? Stunning? Perhaps a little magical?" Wilde grins, preening under Zolf's gaze.

"All of the above," Zolf smiles, softly, carefully. "Definitely worth repeating."

"Maybe in the morning. After all, I need to get that solid eight hour sleep if I want to be treated to dinner, right?"

"Right."

"And before you ask-" Wilde flourishes his hands, face drawn down in an exaggerated frown, " _I_ am the big spoon."

Zolf can't help the laugh that bursts out of him, rough and explosive, startlingly loud. "Whatever pleases you," he manages to say. "Although I have it on good authority I am _very_ good at hugs."

"Oh, the best," Wilde nods knowingly. "But for now, I do the holding. I need... I need to know you're safe."

Zolf throws his arms around him, before Wilde can do so much as process his movements. That fracturing, spiralling look on his face is one Zolf would do anything to fold away in a drawer to be forgotten.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm safe, and so are you. We're going to fix the world, and go on holiday, and settle down somewhere beautiful and peaceful, with a theatre for your plays, and a bookshop with all the latest Campbell novels for me. Does that sound good to you?"

Wilde returns the hug, squeezing him as if Zolf might vanish at any moment. "You know what? I think that sounds perfect."

When they sleep, finally, rocked by the gentle drift of the ship, and the steady rhythm of each others' hearts, it's the best either of them has slept in years.

**Author's Note:**

> I Am Not A Romance Writer and writing kisses is Terrifying. but zolf/wilde deserve little a kisses as a treat so. i was contractually obliged really  
> //  
> apparently my very specific love language in fanfic is characters asking each other "you with me?" and im making myself cry  
> //  
> thanks for reading! come hang/chat with me on tumblr [@edelwoodsouls](https://edelwoodsouls.tumblr.com)


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